a.k.a. The Peeping Tomassino
I have written this post in conversations with new friends along the way, so here it is! Upon leaving Rome and after that morning's swaztika incident we were driving through Levorno, on a highway we had passed before when we were looking for a campsite. It was a winding road high up on the edge of a winding cliff facing the Mediterranean. It seemed that for miles and miles cars and scooters were lined up, their drivers somewhere down that cliff baptizing their sun drenched bodies I had only been driving for an hour when Hamilton asked me to stop so that we could swim. I wasn't very happy with this suggestion because I prefer to rack up miles prior to making stops for food, fun, etc. Not to mention my hair was fried from all of the salt water and sun, brittle is an accurate description. Whats more my face had been breaking out, there was the random heat rash on my arms etc. And not knowing where our next stop or shower was, I just didn't feel like being hot and salty all damn day! As you can see his proposal was simply preposterous to poor little old me. Can you imagine the nerve to ask me to swim on yet another beautiful fucking rocky beach?! What a brute.
I unwillingly conceded, declaring that I wouldn't swim though, but packing my new blue bikini just in case. We ran across the busy highway to the edge of the cliff and proceed down a steep, rocky goat path that drops straight down to the water. So now I'm pissed that I have to go mountain climbing and sit in the sun while he swims. I followed him down the hill, the shifty ground betraying my every few steps, rocks falling away to places unseen, grasping at dry bushes and roots for flimsy holds to break my inevitable fall. We make it to the bottom after about 20 minutes, covered from the knees down in red dirt and dry scratches. Now we climbed on large prickly rocks until he finds the perfect place. He proceeds to sunbath, I sit behind a large rock in the only patch of shade I can find, determined not to give in to beckoning crystal blueness.
Hamilton sweetly tries to coax me out, I refuse. As he perilously steps his way to the water, trying to gauge its depth, I watch a man in blue speedos wander his way towards us. He proceeds to climb up to a higher ledge where he is well shielded by its large projections. I saw him stand to remove his speedos. This being a common sight on the beaches here I assumed that he was either looking for a little privacy to sunbath, or he was relieving himself. Hamilton came out of the water raving about how cool it was, which was a welcome change after the murky, warm, and boring beaches at Camp Pila. “You should come in baby.” I quickly agreed deciding to enjoy the circumstances and abandon my hot butt numbing silent protest.
Hamilton returned to his sunny perch and I opted to change into my suit out of the view of the scattered beach enthusiasts, but in clear view of the nude sunbather. With my back facing him I quickly slid off my pants and pulled on my electric blue bottoms. I then I pulled off my shirt and tied on my top. No big deal right on the liberated beaches of Italy? Once I was changed, I turned around to find the perched man sitting up looking directly at me. He gave me a nod, a smile, and unassumingly passed his hand over his rather large member. I nodded trying not to make a big deal out of it, and continued over to Ham. I shared my observations, giggling and wondering if I had missed some sort of stereotypes along the way. I was impressed and a little shocked by his size, I was still operating under the assumption that he was relaxing and not aroused. What were those stereotypes? The Italian Stallion...no, this referred to Rocky Marciano or Rocky Balboa....I looked up again and found him staring at me with that same goofy smile on his face his hand and penis nonchalantly waving at me. I shared this with Ham again, trying not to laugh too noticeably, and once again he quickly dismissed my observation asserting that I was mistaken. I joked with him that its too bad he wasn't born Italian, I mean wow! We decided to go into the water, as we stood so did our Peeping Tomassino, that same dumb smile, his hand still lazily working away. Ham notice at this point but I think he was still in disbelief.
The water was cool and welcoming and despite my prior intention I quickly submerged my entire body, head and all, surrendering to its mysterious calm. Whenever I decided to emerge Tom was still in place somewhat obscured by the rocks. When we chose to climb back onshore Tom stood at his ledge as if he were greeting us, “Oh yes, hallo! You making de sport? Ah but of course I making de sport too.” I continued to find this somewhat amusing, Ham silently simmered. For me, I had spent the last month traveling throughout Germany, Prague and Italy with people gawking at me. Those type of blank stares where you can't tell if the do or don't like what they see, no smiles or even a nod when I smiled at them to acknowledge my awareness of their unwanted glances. I have often felt like a circus freak, I mean my western etiquette particularly the southern contingent teaches that you have to make some conciliatory gesture when caught in the act. I had looked forward to being greeted by Italian men in an expressive style that I had been warned of, but I wasn't prepared for public semi-repressed masturbation!
We settled in for a lunch of bread, mortidella, prosciutto and cheese. Tomassino was uninterested and soon wandered down the beach and around some juts, settling a little uphill from a nude sunbathing couple. The paleness of the man's ass shown like a neon sign in the bright sunlight while his partner's breast appeared to be much more sunkissed. The distance was great enough that all other details were lost. It was clear then that this was how the peeper got his kicks. While it was wildly inappropriate it did relieve me to see an non-repressed human response to nudity. Seeing someone's Christian parts is not the same as looking at their face (unless you're a nurse, porn star, or in some similar professions). There is the inevitable assessment and evaluation of another's posterior, speculation as to stretch marks, cellulite or scar tissue, acknowledgement of the size, shape, and hang of the breast...excitement is perfectly natural. However, the Stallion flaunted his assessments and his body without concern for the egos or comfort of others, disregarding all notions of decorum.
After he wandered out of sight around another cove of sorts I decided to revisit the joy of toplessness. I wandered down to the rocks felt around for a seemingly deep entry point and leaped in. I swam out a good ways and once I grew tired I sprawled out on my back and floated. When I looked back to shore to urge Ham to join me I saw that the Stallion had returned to the ring, and had another contender standing further down the beach (although his bathing suit remained on). Hamilton did join me in the water after giving the peeper a very long menacing look. We discussed their presence some more and swam out a little further. When we finally returned to the shore he was at full attention. Ham volunteered to go get my swimsuit top and did so staring daggers at the audience. After putting my top back on exiting the water was a lot less interesting and Tomassino left the ring for the last time, never to be seen by these travelers again.
After another hour or so we made the long dusty climb back to the car. Already hot and sweaty I opted not to drop the top to the convertible and we continued on our journey with a little a/c. It couldn't have been more than 30 minutes before we were driving along a 2 lane country road that parallelled a sprawling military complex. As I drove enjoying the canopy the trees formed overhead and the sweet putrid smell of cow dung my eyes caught sight of two scantilly clad women sitting on chairs on the side of the road. One was standing her spandex tube dress pulled down to expose her enormous fake breast! Somehow Hamilton didn't see this at all, I almost did a u-turn just to show him I hadn't imagined the presence of these women of leisure on our leisurely country drive. I couldn't help but wonder again about Tomassino and whether he too knew where to find them.
